


adronitis

by thedevianthunter



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Behind the Scenes, F/M, Falling In Love, Good playthru, M/M, Office Romance, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Slow Burn, basically Captain Allen's side story during the game, but not too slow, half speed burn, sort of enemies to friends to lovers, spoiler: it's you, what was he up to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-03 00:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19452226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevianthunter/pseuds/thedevianthunter
Summary: n. frustration with how long it takes to get to know someone





	adronitis

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during the active storyline of D:BH, starting a few days before Kara is introduced but after the Philips Hostage situation in August.

The first time you meet him, he tells you to move out of his goddamn way. His words, not yours.

He practically pushes past you, and the reheated coffee in your hands sloshes over the rim of the mug and onto your white button-up.

He doesn’t glance back, and the SWAT operatives trailing behind him snicker at your disbelieving expression.

It takes everything in you not to follow the man and dump the rest of the coffee on his head.

Now, that’s hardly the kind of first meeting worth gushing about. Certainly not something you’d be willing to share at your wedding reception in front of all your family and friends. If anything, this is the _exact_ scenario that would prevent you from ever coming in contact with that same person again.

Luckily, this isn’t as difficult as you may think, despite the fact that you both work in the same building. But with him always locked away on the fourth floor in the SWAT department and you hidden in your own corner down on the first, there’s no need for you to actively avoid him. In fact, you haven’t run into him once since that fateful first meeting.

Not to mention, Detroit seems to be inwardly coming undone these days. That hostage situation in August was only just the beginning; since then, there’s been more and more deviant android reports, some of which you’ve had the pleasure of filing yourself, filling up the database, .

The few weeks you've been at this precinct has been one hell of a ride but work is work, and you’re the one who decided to enroll yourself in the six-month training program to become a dedicated member of the DPD. You’ve been doing well so far; why let one office asshole get under your skin?

A shame, though, for such a handsome face to be wasted on such a dickhead. There are much nicer men out there who deserve those cheekbones and striking blue eyes, but you suppose it wouldn’t be a good thing for him to be exactly your type either. You can’t afford to get distracted, after all.

And to your credit, you don’t.

At least, not _initially_.

* * *

**October 20, 2038**

Yet another slow night.

You stifle a yawn as you scan the mostly-empty streets, idly patting the steering wheel. There are still a few hours before you can return to the station and you’ve already finished the large flask of coffee you’d brought. The taste of it lingers in back of your throat yet you crave more, if only to warm you up.

Damn the police department for getting you truly hooked on the stuff.

Rubbing your eyes, you grab the tablet of reports from the passenger seat and pull up the latest runaway deviant file: an Eden Club android that had been reported missing about two weeks ago.

You’ve been on the lookout since—albeit passively—but it’s been _fifteen days_ already and you doubt the success of actually locating the deviant. You doubt the success of locating _any_ deviant for that matter, considering they could easily blend in with the crowd after donning on normal clothes.

At this point, searching for them is simply a formality.

You want to believe that these are merely isolated incidents, or simply cases of defective products. After all, no company is perfect; sometimes there are issues in the manufacturing process, but that doesn’t mean that the whole line of products is doomed to fail, too, right?

You sincerely hope so.

Otherwise…

Well, you’ve seen enough sci-fi movies to know.

It’s about half past two when you begin to head back to the station, and you mentally celebrate making it through your shift without having to stop somewhere for more coffee. The night has been quiet and you haven’t needed to arrest anybody or deescalate any bar fights. For once, you think you’ll be able to go home incident-free.

And then a car runs a red light in front of you, going at least fifteen miles over the speed limit.

Sighing, you flip your siren and lights on and quickly tail the sedan, which surprisingly pulls to the side of the road as soon as you get close enough. A good thing, too, because you're most definitely _not_ in the mood to be part of a high speed chase this close to the end of your shift. 

After having been doing this for a few years now, you’re rarely alarmed by the faces that greet you when the window rolls down. You’ve seen your fair share of drunks, elderly, and the occasional underage child taking their sleeping parents’ car on a joyride.

Still, when you walk over to the driver’s window, flashlight in hand, you don’t think anything can prepare you for the half-embarrassed scowl of none-other than that SWAT asshole from a few weeks ago.

 _Karma_ , you think gleefully the second you get over your initial shock at seeing his very punchable face.

“You in a hurry to get somewhere?” you ask indifferently, as though you don’t recognize him. He rubs his forehead tiredly, shaking his head.

“Just trying to get home,” he mutters, not even bothering to look at you.

“Been drinking tonight?”

His head snaps up and when he turns to glare daggers at you, you wonder if you’ve pushed it too far. “Fuck you.”

“Hey—”

“Don’t pull this shit on me. You know damn fucking well I’ve been at the station the whole day.”

 _And whose decision is that?_ you think to yourself irritably. Everyone in the precinct, maybe even _every_ precinct in Michigan, knows how desperately this particular SWAT captain is trying to climb the ranks. You’ve heard in passing that he’s hoping to become chief of police, and from the way he practically lives in the station trying to prove his worth, you can tell that it won’t be long until that becomes a reality.

Regardless, that doesn’t exactly make him immune to the law. He of all people should know that.

“You ran a red, not to mention going well over the speed limit,” you inform him coldly, only slightly unnerved at his icy glower. “I can double-check with the cameras if you want to see how much over.”

Truthfully, you don’t know much about Captain… Something, other than he’s a dick who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about anybody other than himself and his ranking. Yeah, he may be brilliant but he’s an awful person. He is most certainly your superior, but does that mean you have to let him off scot-free, especially since he’s had this coming for a while now? At this point, you’re more than willing to risk getting transferred to another precinct again.

So with that in mind, you hunch your shoulders and withdraw a small pen from your belt. The SWAT captain grits his teeth but otherwise complies when you instruct him to follow the pen with his eyes only.

All you want is to mess with him a little bit as payback for unapologetically getting you to spill coffee on yourself. You know he hasn’t been drinking and you’ve already decided that you’re definitely going to write him a ticket, but with the flashlight illuminating his face and highlighting his very, _very_ fatigued features, your gut can't help but twist. You notice the prominent dark bags underneath his eyes, the mussed up hair and chapped lips. He’s blinking a lot in a way that tells you he’s trying desperately to stay awake. His shoulders are sagged in defeat, and for the first time since he rudely bumped into you, you feel _bad_ for him.

Damn you for having such an active conscience.

You sigh, lowering the flashlight and pocketing your pen. The captain looks a bit surprised that you didn’t complete the whole test but doesn’t say anything. You take a step back, waving him off.

“Well, just don’t run any more red lights, Captain. Get home safely.”

And with that, you turn around and head back to your cruiser.

By the time you hop into the vehicle, the black sedan is already driving away. 

**Author's Note:**

> I missed writing for this fandom, and of course my mans Allen! I'll try to update weekly but I've honestly been so busy that I got some audacity starting this fic in the first place lmao.


End file.
